


Send You My Love on a Wire

by aishiteita



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Scott Pilgrim References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishiteita/pseuds/aishiteita
Summary: Jeon Wonwoo: 26, Cancer, venue administrator, has issues.Kwon Soonyoung: 26, Gemini, event promoter, beautiful*, has issues.*this description is subjective on Jeon Wonwoo's part, and may not fit others' standards.(In other words, the Scott Pilgrim AU someone has asked for, and I was a little too happy to oblige.)
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: South x Southwest: A Soonyoung/Wonwoo Prompt Fest





	Send You My Love on a Wire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimsum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimsum/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [soonwoo2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/soonwoo2020) collection. 



> well first of all. uh. heres the thing .. scott pilgrim is formative for so many of us but objectively its So So Silly ! but then the more i thought of it im like. wow . imagine having to meet ur s/o's exes? All Of Them? In Succession????
> 
> and so came along this lil au, though its more of me seeing the prompt and thinking "ok i can prolly do this one" bc the ideas flit in fast. now i got too cocky myself bc i THOUGHT i could finish this ~in time~ but clearly i cant. that said do not worry, ive the whole thing lined out, just gotta type in the resolution !!!!!!!
> 
> so now, addressed to hui ((HI HUI)):
> 
> i know im basically.... an absentee in the discord and on twt . but that doesnt matter bc this fic is for YOU more than it is for me !!!!!!!!!! ik we have a meme prompt thing going on for this fest but . the moment i knew it was u i just hoped that u would enjoy it, in any sense of that word . im soooososososo sorry (literally . so sorry . ) that this is not completed yet, but it WILL be, i WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN !!!!!!!! thank u so much for waiting, hui, and i hope u like it !!!!!!!! 
> 
> this is essentially my personal thoughts on the whole scott pilgrim franchise, the characters involved, and a lot of nostalgia for soonwoo and swn ! god bless u cat (ilu mom) . swn was the home i desperately needed back as a teen, and im beyond glad, beyond happy to see it thrive as the community it is now, seeing a lot of new members who r the same age i was when i first started writing for these CLEARLY lovesick fools. 
> 
> way to make that about me . ANYWHO . i genuinely had a lot of fun writing this--it may not look like my old works, or my current works, maaaaaaybe its whatever (sometimes i feel like its whatever), but i hope u (im talking to u still hui!!!!!!!!) and everyone else reading this can still have fun . 
> 
> before i end this godawful authors note, i will put a cw for jealousy, just bc i felt that was quite central to scott pilgrim as a whole, and jealousy in itself has so many fun layers to pick at ! though of course, if this isnt quite ur cup of tea, or if u feel like u dont wanna read this right now, thats a-ok . 
> 
> WHOOOO so this is a long note ! without further ado, pls enjoy <3

Club17 is not and will never be as cool as it sounds, no matter how hard the PR and marketing teams work. Wonwoo knows this because he is very much aware that both teams only have four people working in them, total, and at this point there’s no use in keeping them as separate teams.

It’s Wednesday evening; _Girls’ Night_ , the higher-ups decided, and so here Wonwoo sits, behind the bar staring at his phone while Jeonghan chats up a customer before sliding her a dangerously neon pink drink. On Wonwoo’s screen is the Battle of the Bands’ preliminaries Facebook event page, and yes, he successfully secured the clamored show for Club17, but he did it purely for his own ulterior motives. He doesn’t even have to be there that night—it’s just _prelims god fucking damn it_ and he should be resting at home.

So he breathes in deep, closes his eyes, and confirms his status for the upcoming event as _going_. This is immediately followed by a long-suffering, guttural groan from Jeonghan.

“You’re kidding me, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan whines, dragging his hands down his face.

“It’s a Club17 event,” Wonwoo deadpans, “and I’m Club17’s venue admin. Why would I not be there.”

Jeonghan scoffs. “Why would you not be there indeed...”

“Look, don’t you have a bar to tend?”

“It’s only ten, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says, gesturing to the lack of patrons in the vicinity. “Anywho. You don’t give a shit about this event. You just wanna see that new promoter guy again—what’s his name?”

“Soonyoung. Kwon Soonyoung,” Wonwoo tells him. “And no, I’m just a responsible person and this is the biggest event I’ve had to be in charge of ever.”

Wonwoo sips his now room temperature beer, ignoring the fact that Jeonghan has effectively abandoned his post to squat down next to Wonwoo. He can’t avoid Jeonghan’s gaze for long; they’re effectively stabbing him.

“Now don’t say I never sympathize with you, but um. Kwon Soonyoung isn’t it,” Jeonghan says softly, as if talking to a child. The worst part is he sounds sincere for the first time in the evening.

Wonwoo glares at Jeonghan and gulps down the rest of his beer. “What does that mean?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “He’s... just not for you. At least I don’t think so. And I know, I _know_ you’re like, besotted or whatever, but he’s notorious for never settling. I mean, he just moved here last month, didn’t you hear?”

“First, how do you know all this? Second, how do you know who’s—” Wonwoo gestures quotation marks with his fingers, “— _for me_?”

Wonwoo regrets asking, because Jeonghan ignores the sarcasm to look up at Wonwoo with pity in the downward slope of his brows. “You remember your little crush on Minhyuk?” Jeonghan asks quietly.

“...Yes,” Wonwoo admits, less than proud of himself. The crush lasted four whole months and nearly costed him his job.

“And on Seungcheol?”

“Mm-hmm.” Seungcheol was terrible in the sense that he’s near perfect, and Wonwoo was smitten for a whole year (and a half, if he considers the on-and-off feelings petering off after). This one almost costed him Jeonghan’s irksome friendship.

“Kyungsoo.”

“ _Okay_ , I get it.” Wonwoo raises a hand to halt Jeonghan’s brutal reality check. “I get it, I fall head over heels for every decent person I meet. You don’t have to remind me.”

Wonwoo does understand that his easily swayed heart is a problem that should be classified in the DSM’s next update, but he just as easily justifies this. It has been three years since his last relationship, and two months since Jeonghan drunk him under the table, coaxing Wonwoo’s confession that he’s moved on from crushing on Kyungsoo, it’s fine, he’s moved on from romance, Q. E. D.

The thing is he hasn’t _completely_ because who could when their ex’s immaculately done-up face is plastered across every underground venue in Seoul? Im Changkyun is now the very in-trend, very sought-after front man of his own indie band, _I. M._ , and Wonwoo hates this so much he wants to shred each poster and flyer with his own alimentary canal. He’s thinking of peeling off one of such posters and shoving it in his mouth right now, nursing a new can of beer in a toilet cubicle to get away from Jeonghan’s overbearingly caustic display of affection. So Wonwoo has the hots for a different person every ten minutes. It’s not that big of a deal, really, Wonwoo thinks there are people worse than him in the world.

Wonwoo’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he glances at the lock screen to find a slew of messages from Jeonghan. He shoves the device back into his pocket and sips more beer, pouring the rest down the toilet bowl when his stomach starts feeling rumbly from the previous pint. He exits the bathroom to find Jeonghan anxiously biting his nails and bouncing one knee behind the bar, eyeing someone on the dancefloor before turning his gaze to Wonwoo.

“Oh my god, you idiot, did you not read my messages—”

Jeonghan’s chastising completely flies over Wonwoo’s head as he stares at the dancefloor area, where Soonyoung is currently showing off his legitimate dancing skills to the other patrons. Effortlessly cool Kwon Soonyoung with the casual tee under a casual jacket and casual sweatpants, his platinum bleached-blonde hair beginning to cling onto his face from working up a sweat. Wonwoo’s stomach rumbles louder in protest. Of what, he’s not sure. He walks over to Soonyoung anyway.

“Oh! Admin Guy!” Soonyoung exclaims upon seeing Wonwoo. He stops dancing to wave excitedly at Wonwoo, grinning ear to ear until the corners of his eyes are lifted.

Wonwoo returns the wave with much less enthusiasm than he would’ve liked. “Hi.”

Soonyoung motions to the rest of his friends (Wonwoo actually doesn’t know if they’re really Soonyoung’s friends, but they’re smiling at him and he’s smiling at all of them, some untouchable happy hour of their own) before fixing his gaze back on Wonwoo, pointing to the bar. Wonwoo nods in understanding and wriggles himself free from the crowd to find Jeonghan frowning at him, moving away from the bar with an unlit cigarette in hand. He shakes his head at Wonwoo, unflinching when the latter flips him off. Jeonghan on yet another unauthorized break means Wonwoo has to man the bar now.

“Whoa, you’re venue admin _and_ bartender?” Soonyoung asks playfully once he seats himself down on a creaky barstool.

Wonwoo chuckles awkwardly as he faces away from Soonyoung, opting to hide the fact that he can’t control his facial expressions for his life by browsing through the liquor shelf. “I mean, anyone can bartend for a venue like this, right?”

“Any canned drink you have is fine with me,” Soonyoung says, like it’s merciful of him to make it easier for Wonwoo. “As long as it’s cold.”

“C’mon, I’ve been told my margarita’s pretty good.” The stupidity of this sentence doesn’t hit Wonwoo until a second later, when he’s shoveling the bar’s hidden store of _good ice from properly sourced water_ into a blender. Who would fuck up a margarita when it’s just a premade mix with ice?

Wonwoo glances at Soonyoung and feels dread crawl up his throat at the complete lack of a reaction to his irredeemably thoughtless self-promotion. The blank face quietly morphs into a helpless laugh, Soonyoung’s head tilted down as he tries to regain his breath.

“Well, at least I’m guaranteed to not drink diesel tonight,” Soonyoung says in-between wheezes, still dignified somehow, what with how amicably he responded. Wonwoo thinks it’s his generosity peeking through, the legendary promoter that he is, practically known throughout South Korea’s entire nightclub industry.

That’s how insane Wonwoo’s crush on Soonyoung is. Jeonghan can come up with any excuse he wants but Wonwoo _gets it_ already. The blender starts as violently loud as it always does, but it’s approaching eleven and there are enough people in the venue to drown out the sound of ice against metal. Wonwoo wants to look at Soonyoung but it’s too risky to do that now. Soonyoung would look right back at him, so he settles for his distorted reflection on the tall martini glass while salting its rim.

Soonyoung accepts his drink with what Wonwoo notes to be surprisingly short, overly smooth fingers, as if he’s never worked a day in his life. “To you and Club17 hosting this year’s battle!” he cheers, clinking his glass gently against Wonwoo’s.

“To you... being battle promoter,” Wonwoo weakly answers, “for the third year in a row.”

The laugh that follows is just as helpless as the previous one, and Wonwoo likes it, even if it’s Soonyoung’s form of pity for him. It’s a nice laugh. Wonwoo feels his face get hot and hastily downs half of his margarita at once, if only to excuse the flush spreading from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. His eyes burn.

“Oh my god, this is so late of me to ask, but what’s your name again?” Soonyoung asks. “Feels bad calling you Admin Guy all the time.”

“Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo.”

Soonyoung is still smiling when he hands over his phone to Wonwoo. The screen shows a blank contact profile, save for Wonwoo’s given name with a frog emoji next to it. “Okay, Wonwoo, I probably should get your number too, since we’re gonna be business partners and all.”

If Jeonghan were here to witness this exchange, he’d keel over cackling, because things have never gone this well for Wonwoo. _Never_. Not even the motivationally elusive tiger emoji can deter Wonwoo’s unabashed joy at this very moment; _the_ Kwon Soonyoung just asked for his number, and that’s more than what some people achieve in their lifetime. Soonyoung sends him a little _it me :3_ text, and Wonwoo memorizes the string of digits on the spot, a lovely -1010 as its last four numbers.

“Got it?” Soonyoung prompts, forcing Wonwoo to exit his bubble of happiness for a second.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies, but his voice trembles. “Got it.”

**So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings (Can’t Deal)**

Wonwoo isn’t averse to happiness or anything of the sort. He likes joy as much as any average person does. To feel so light and believe that everything will turn out okay is something he appreciates. But here’s the thing about happiness: it goes. As with anything in the miserable existence known as Wonwoo’s life, nothing is permanent.

It’s a Monday evening, essentially Wonwoo’s night off, and he’s stuck attending one of Jeonghan’s mind-blowingly huge parties. He comes back from the bathroom to find Public Offender Number One (i.e., Jeonghan) pour vodka into his perfectly palatable rum and coke, and is instantly reminded that happiness is fleeting. Wonwoo can’t help but close his eyes and take a deep breath when Jeonghan saunters over to shove the cursed solo cup in Wonwoo’s face. The whiff of cheap Smirnoff makes him want to gag.

“Consider this a harsher warning, if you will,” Jeonghan says, face cruelly blank as he waits for Wonwoo to surrender and drink. He does, and this time, he actually gags.

“I think,” Wonwoo starts once he could feel his throat again, “the star-crossed lovers trope is not something you should be pushing for in the twenty-first century.”

“Please don’t think of me as some evil renaissance era parent, I’m sincerely looking out for you here.”

And that statement is what pisses Wonwoo off the most. “Again, you don’t know me better than I know myself, Jeonghan, _why_ are you so against me crushing on someone new?”

That gets a rise out of Jeonghan, who clenches his jaw and looks about ready to sock Wonwoo in the guts when a throng of partygoers try to whisk Jeonghan away, one of the girls practically dragging him by the arm. He yells at Wonwoo that their talk isn’t over, and that he genuinely means well, but Wonwoo decides to flip him off before turning on his heel to the quieter side of the party.

The house’s patio is cool with the summer breeze, fairly quiet, and graced by Soonyoung’s presence. Wonwoo needs more than a second to process the last bit of his observation, but no dice, his stomach has crawled up to his mouth and he can feel his face turn disastrously red ( _again_ ). He grips his cup tightly and walks with what he hopes is liquid courage to where Soonyoung stands, elbows on the patio’s wooden railing as he chatters with another guy. To Wonwoo’s mercy, Soonyoung notices him first.

“Wonwoo!” Soonyoung calls out, cheerful as ever. “Thought you’d be here.”

“You thought right,” Wonwoo says. He glances at Soonyoung’s friend (he hopes the guy is just a friend), just a couple inches shorter than he is, but bright and confident in his posture. Wonwoo notes how he smiles even _bigger_ than Soonyoung.

“Seokmin,” the guy introduces himself. “I’ve known Soonyoung since... uh, was it grade school?”

“Middle school,” Soonyoung says. He motions for Wonwoo to stand next to him against the railing. Someone from the crowd calls for Seokmin, and he apologizes to Wonwoo before leaving with a wave.

The difference in volume between the patio and the rest of the party is so stark that Wonwoo feels he’ll talk too loudly. It could be the fact that Wonwoo has taken a few sips from his sabotaged drink, or the possibility that Jeonghan has truly punched all his buttons, _or_ the fact that it’s just the two of them now; he leans in Soonyoung’s direction, craning his neck slightly to speak straight to the other’s ear.

“Are you two...?” is all Wonwoo manages to say before the rest of conscience catches up with his actions.

Soonyoung meets Wonwoo’s gaze before he can turn his head. He laughs a little, almost like he’s embarrassed, and Wonwoo expects the worst.

“God, no,” Soonyoung says. “He already has the privilege of being my first ever boyfriend and ex, no more, please.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry—that was my bad.” Wonwoo does his best to hide his face with the cup in his hand, taking more sips of the cursed concoction within it. But all Soonyoung responds with is another laugh. It’s not loud at all for how wide the accompanying smile is, something stuttered and low, like he’s having a hard time stopping it.

“We were as serious as two snot-nosed kids can be, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung tells Wonwoo, close to whining as he jostles Wonwoo slightly with his elbow. His cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat beading along the bridge of his nose. “What’s in that cup?”

Wonwoo swirls the mentioned cup, grimacing at its contents. “Rum and coke... with liberal amounts of vodka.”

Without waiting for Wonwoo’s permission, Soonyoung swipes the cup and takes a sip, blanching the instant he gets the drink down. He hands the drink back to Wonwoo with a frown before gulping down what remains of his own cup. Wonwoo tries to not let his dismay show; he wanted to drink from Soonyoung’s cup too.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung calls softly, head tilted and completely blocking Wonwoo’s field of vision. “Do you like me, by any chance?”

And Wonwoo doesn’t breathe. The breeze has stopped blowing at the worst time possible because Soonyoung’s face is merely inches away from his, and the patio is so fucking _warm_ all of a sudden, and Wonwoo can’t even swallow his nerves down, feeling like he’s either about to choke, puke, or both of those simultaneously.

“What makes you think that?” Wonwoo practically squeaks. His throat is tight and there’s no removing the tension clamping his jaw shut.

“You asking if I’m dating Seokmin,” Soonyoung replies easily. “It’s a bit of a dead giveaway.”

Wonwoo tries to peek past Soonyoung into the party indoors, spying Jeonghan far within the house. Jeonghan notices and stares back at him, making cutting gestures to his neck with wide eyes.

“Was I that obvious?” Wonwoo asks innocuously when Soonyoung leans in closer, a hand firmly curled around Wonwoo’s forearm and searing the skin underneath.

“You’re sweet,” Soonyoung tells him with a grin. “C’mon, let’s dip.”

Goosebumps rise all over Wonwoo’s skin when Soonyoung loosens his hold, only to caress Wonwoo’s wrist before he locks their hands together. He turns around to re-enter the house, dragging Wonwoo along as they make a beeline to the front door. Wonwoo doesn’t know what kind of face he made as he brushed past the crowd, but whatever it was, Jeonghan’s mouth agape with indignance is worth whatever hell he’ll witness the next day.

***

As far as sexual scripts go, Wonwoo is familiar with this. Ribs strained against the pounding of his heart as they run to the nearest bus stop. Soonyoung doesn’t do much beyond hold his hand the entire bus ride to what Wonwoo assumes is Soonyoung’s apartment building; conversation is futile when Wonwoo can no longer discern any sensation on his body aside from that of Soonyoung’s thumb rubbing the joint of his own, hand still securely wrapped around Wonwoo’s. Soon they’ll be in Soonyoung’s bedroom, on the sheets he’s slept on the previous night, surrounded by everything _Soonyoung_ and Wonwoo hopes whatever overseeing deity would smite him on the spot if he’s hard before they reach the front door.

“Sober up or keep drinking?” Soonyoung asks after toeing off his shoes at the entranceway, glancing back in Wonwoo’s direction as he walks to the kitchenette.

“What about you?”

The stove thrums after three quick clicks, and Soonyoung sets down the kettle before inspecting his pantry, humming the whole while. He pulls out a box of buckwheat teabags with a shy grin. “Don’t think I wanna be drunk for this,” he says.

“Then I’ll have the same,” Wonwoo quickly replies, feeling out-of-place in Soonyoung’s sparse apartment, like he hasn’t finished unpacking from last month. The wooden chair creaks when Wonwoo leans forward far enough to fold himself in half, still-too-warm hands clenched into fists as he draws in a deep breath while Soonyoung isn’t looking.

The water eventually boils loud enough to discourage any efforts to talk between them, but Wonwoo can still hear the faint melody Soonyoung is humming—the Battle of the Bands promotion jingle. Wonwoo is now nauseous for entirely different reasons upon remembering that the long-awaited event is less than four days away, barely three if he bothers with the fact that it’s close to midnight already and he’s not working, he’s in Soonyoung’s apartment about to _do things with Soonyoung—_

“Bon appetit,” Soonyoung singsongs while sliding a mug of tea to Wonwoo, sitting across the table from him after.

“Thanks.”

Wonwoo is going to flay himself after this because of all times, _now_ his brain decides to register the frazzled messages from his nerves, eyes refusing to look Soonyoung in the face and tongue paralyzed. He can only focus on Soonyoung’s smooth fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug; Soonyoung lifts it to his mouth and— _oh, shit_ —Wonwoo’s gaze finds itself locked to Soonyoung’s, half-lidded from fatigue.

“Nervous?” Soonyoung asks before drinking his tea.

Wonwoo almost chokes on his own spit. “Maybe a little.”

“About Battle?” There’s a slight pause when Soonyoung sets down his mug with a coy smile. “Or about me?”

 _Both_ , Wonwoo wants to answer, but the words get caught in his throat as Soonyoung gets up from his seat to kneel before Wonwoo, forearms resting on Wonwoo’s knees. Soonyoung’s stare burns worse than the first sip of tea.

“Can I kiss you?” Soonyoung whispers.

Wonwoo isn’t sure if he nodded, said yes, or did both at once; Soonyoung surges up to kiss him before he could truly process the situation, face in Wonwoo’s hands and worlds better than he’s ever imagined it to feel under his fingertips. He can’t see much beyond a jumble of features and thin strands of bleached hair, all Soonyoung, pulling away only to kiss Wonwoo again. The hands cupping Soonyoung’s face wanders to the back of his head as they both get up, standing as close as possible to one another until their bodies are completely pressed against each other’s. As such, Wonwoo is caught between thinking of _Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung_ and dung beetles in an excruciating effort to not get hard.

“Bedroom?” Soonyoung asks, and Wonwoo nods eagerly, almost tripping over himself because Soonyoung insists on making out _en route_. The dung beetle is dead and Wonwoo is embarrassingly hard by the time Soonyoung closes the door behind them.

They waste no time falling onto the bed, Soonyoung clambering over Wonwoo and trailing a hand along his arm before settling on the bare skin of his hip where his shirt is rucked up. A thumb digs under the hem of his jeans, rubbing skin and bone and Wonwoo can’t help but moan into Soonyoung’s mouth.

Even in this situation, Soonyoung is too nice, too perfect, front teeth peeking through his swollen lips when he asks, “What do you want?”

“You,” Wonwoo answers, hurriedly, not perfectly, probably with his voice cracking. Soonyoung’s hand reaches for his zipper, and Wonwoo does the same, frustration growing when he notices that Soonyoung has a belt on. “I want you, and I want this belt off—”

“Wait, Wonwoo, wait—”

And Wonwoo does. He pauses, blinking to refocus his vision at Soonyoung’s face, then down to his flat crotch.

“I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung says, the panic clear in his eyes even as his arms retreat to his sides, leaving Wonwoo cold. He’s staring at the sheets. “I really am. I just—I don’t know, it just doesn’t happen the first time. Or the second, and third. It’s shit, I know, I’m sorry, so please let me—”

He frantically unzips Wonwoo’s jeans, pulling them off his legs along with his briefs despite Wonwoo’s incessant protesting. Wonwoo feels like his brain is going to explode between the embarrassment and guilt, and only when Soonyoung grips his now half-hard cock does he remember how to move his hand, pushing Soonyoung’s head away from his crotch with more force than he intended. 

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says, but it comes out garbled from how hard he’s breathing. He gulps and tries again, letting go of Soonyoung’s head so that he could look at him properly. “It’s okay, really. We don’t have to do anything. Nothing that you don’t wanna do.”

Soonyoung is slack-jawed for a moment, staring, and then he bursts into laughter before extending his arms out to pull Wonwoo by the shoulders. His grin is warmly nuzzled against Wonwoo’s neck, and so is his breath when he speaks. “You’re so cute. I like you, Wonwoo.”

There’s no longer a point in feeling self-conscious about how fast his heart is beating, but Wonwoo does it anyway, hands shaky when he knows that Soonyoung can hear. He gasps when Soonyoung starts kissing his neck, moving lower to kiss along the plane of his chest, licking his nipple. “No, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo bleats out, “I _said_ nothing that you don’t wanna do!”

“And if I wanna blow you?”

“Okay, nothing that you _think_ I want you to do.”

Soonyoung smiles as he rests his head against Wonwoo’s thigh. “You’re funny,” he says, and Wonwoo purses his lips in response, because he isn’t trying to be funny.

“I’m serious,” Wonwoo mumbles, almost like he’s sulking. Jeonghan would call it sulking.

“I know you are.” Soonyoung sits up with slouched shoulders. “Would you go out with me, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo wants to scoff. He stops himself at a grimace, because Soonyoung isn’t smiling anymore, eyes trained on the sheets before looking up at Wonwoo through sparse lashes.

“I’m serious,” Soonyoung says. He doesn’t sound like he’s sulking. Wonwoo isn’t sure what Soonyoung sounds like, frankly; unsure if he’s feeling as sober as Wonwoo feels right now, mouth dry and eyes stinging.

Wonwoo doesn’t remember when his last requited crush was, much less how it felt. But if he has to come up with something, right now, he’d say that it’s a feeling in between unwrapping a present and entering a bar right when it opens.

“I would.”

**Don’t Say Yes If You Can’t Say No**

Club17 is housing a crowd twice its typical occupancy rate despite it being a humid Thursday evening, and Wonwoo can feel his armpits sweating through his t-shirt when he gives the sound technicians his thumbs up. The Battle of the Bands’ preliminary round is starting in less than an hour and Wonwoo thinks he’s never been more nervous for anything in his life.

Something cold touches Wonwoo’s cheek, shocking him enough to hurt. He yelps, and turns around to Soonyoung grinning apologetically; yes, that’s possible—only when Soonyoung does it.

“Sorry, but your bartender—uh, what’s his name?”

“Jeonghan.”

“Right, Jeonghan. He’s been glaring at you for the past fifteen minutes or some shit.” Soonyoung hands Wonwoo two cans of beer. “Go to him for a sec! I’ll save you a seat, babe.”

Wonwoo almost chokes. _Babe_. “I, uh, just go up the balcony area—I’ve put our names down for the front row.” He steels himself, and resigns to the fact that whatever he says will simply not sound as heartbreakingly smooth as when Soonyoung said it. “Let me know if you want anything else from the bar, _babe_.”

He almost stutters the word and his voice definitely cracked halfway, but Soonyoung kisses him quickly on the cheek anyway before walking off to the staircase, leaving Wonwoo to deal with what indeed seems to be a grumpy (and bloodthirsty) Jeonghan.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, resigning himself, “let me have it.”

Jeonghan’s eyes don’t follow the lift of his cheeks as he smiles, the line of his mouth rigid and his head nodding to nothing while he tries to find the right words. Wonwoo clasps his hands together, thumbs fiddling with each other.

“I’d cut all the wires in this building and set it on fire afterwards,” Jeonghan mutters defeatedly in one breath before inhaling sharply, “but I like getting paid. And this event _pays_. Now tell me, Wonwoo, have you seen tonight’s lineup?”

Jeonghan’s glare promises that his threat isn’t completely empty, gaze flitting briefly to the poster of _I. M._ plastered across the walls leading to the bar counter. Wonwoo sighs and hangs his head; he’s highly aware that _I. M._ is competing tonight, and only recently distracted from the fact.

“So he’s participating,” Wonwoo says, throwing his hands up weakly. “I don’t see how that’s connected to you being so against me dating Soonyoung. You don’t even know the guy.”

The main venue’s lights have dimmed, along with the pull of their miserable excuse of a red curtain across the stage. Wonwoo can hear the bouncers open the door, but Jeonghan sees it, and curses before ducking slightly, sneaking a puff from his vape in lieu of taking another smoke break. He’s not going to have much of that for the next six hours or so, and Wonwoo almost feels bad for taking Jeonghan’s most coveted vice away from him.

“Here’s the thing.” Jeonghan turns his back to Wonwoo and the door, wiping needlessly at an already clean glass while taking quick drags from his vape. “I know you, Wonwoo, and I know that there’s never just two people in a relationship. That’s not how it works, even if you think so. It’s not that you can’t date Soonyoung—you just can’t date him _now_. Not until you fucking get that there are _other people_ involved when two people so much as _fuck_.”

Wonwoo opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the buzz of his phone, Soonyoung’s selfie flashing across his screen.

“Go on,” Jeonghan says, shooing him away. “I’ve nothing more to say, and these people need their drinks before I get nicotine poisoning.”

***

Coming with Soonyoung to the event, in Wonwoo’s train of logic, is simply a convenient first date. He also thought, almost begrudgingly, that Soonyoung would at least serve as a distraction from Changkyun’s performance, standing proudly on a stage that’s much too far from Wonwoo (then and now). _I. M._ is called up by the emcee, all the band members clad in white leather because Changkyun is too good for the mainstream black, and Wonwoo feels bad (he can’t seem to stop feeling bad for anything and everything, these days) for not being able to tear his gaze away, not even for Soonyoung, whose only purpose for being with him tonight is now moot. Jeonghan has added too much tequila into Wonwoo’s drink, like he knows it would only worsen the situation that is Wonwoo’s brain, going a mile a minute for a song that lasts at least thrice that duration. Changkyun is as beautiful as Wonwoo remembers him to be, and he wants to kill someone for it.

“Wonwoo.”

The song ends abruptly with Changkyun clapping a hand over his microphone, cutting the reverb short and signaling for his band members to do the same. The roaring applause that follows contradicts _I. M._ ’s brief exit entirely, echoing throughout the venue and possibly the streets outside until the emcee begs them almost exasperatedly, having to introduce the next band twice from all the noise. All Wonwoo can think of is that Changkyun hadn’t bothered to look his way, not even once.

“ _Wonwoo_.”

Soonyoung has been calling for him, and Wonwoo snaps his head in attention. His bottom lip is smarting, he realizes, chewed to a sorry state. “Yeah?”

“Bathroom,” Soonyoung says with a blank face, already leaving his seat. “Watch my drink?”

“Oh. Oh, of course. Yeah.”

Wonwoo feels bad, because that’s all he’s ever felt and that’s all he’ll ever feel for the rest of his life. His throat hurts, chest aching, eyes hot as they watch Soonyoung’s figure grow smaller before disappearing into the dark of Club17’s main floor. Wonwoo sighs and drags sweaty hands down his face, like he can’t make himself feel worse than now.

“Wonwoo?” a familiar voice calls out, and Wonwoo looks up with all the regret in the world. It’s Changkyun, trying to be inconspicuous with a black hoodie, face mask pulled down to rest under his chin.

“Hi, Changkyun,” Wonwoo greets him a moment too late. Changkyun laughs.

“I swear you only get more awkward with each day.” Changkyun walks over to Soonyoung’s side of the table, but doesn’t sit down, choosing to lean forward with his elbows perched on the back of the seat. “Been a while, though, how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Wonwoo answers, too quickly this time. He adds as if to prove a point (that he knows is completely nonexistent and impossible against Changkyun), “Scored this event for Club17 so. I guess.”

Changkyun puckers his lips in an attempt to whistle, but Wonwoo can’t hear it over the drone of bass and drums from downstairs. “Venue’s kinda small, but nice. Told you this shit’s more your speed compared to the stage.”

 _Why is Soonyoung taking so long_ , Wonwoo cries internally, doing his best to smile pleasantly past the irritation. “Thanks. Heard that you just closed a record deal too, so, congrats.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me, y’know,” Changkyun says with a grimace. “I know you hate my guts.”

“I don’t _hate_ you, I just—”

Changkyun holds out a hand to interrupt Wonwoo, looking down at his phone. “Sorry to cut it short, but my bandmates found a spot so, gotta go.” Wonwoo must be making a really stupid, desperate face of sorts right now, because Changkyun is grinning at him with pity in the downward slope of his brows. “It’s only the prelims, Wonwoo, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies, now too late, like his brain refuses to connect to the rest of his body. “Soon.”

Changkyun’s already gone, yet Soonyoung is still nowhere to be found. He finishes the rest of his drink in one go, fingers disgustingly sweat-slick against his screen as he dials Soonyoung’s number. Soonyoung tells him he’s right outside the venue with some old friends he ran into, and that Wonwoo should come out to meet them. He sounds unrushed but also unbothered, like it doesn’t matter to him that Wonwoo was just left to fend off a fucking evil ex by himself.

The tiny alleyway next to Club17 is frosty compared to the suffocating heat of the venue, and Wonwoo shows it by rubbing his naked arms, his _hello_ coming out shaky.

“Wonwoo!” Soonyoung walks over to loop an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders, a lit cigarette in his hand. “Glad you made it.”

He must’ve noticed Wonwoo glancing at the half-inch of ash barely dangling above Wonwoo’s skin, carefully transferring the cigarette to his free hand and taking a quick drag of it. “You smoke?” Wonwoo asks, cursing himself for coughing a little in the end.

“Only when offered,” Soonyoung replies. He gestures to the tall man and equally tall woman before Wonwoo. “Mingyu, Yuna, this is Wonwoo, my boyfriend.”

Mingyu laughs with his entire body, like he’s exaggerating and trying to restrain himself at the same time. “You have my condolences, Wonwoo,” he says jokingly, earning a light slap to the arm from Yuna, who tries to hide her own chuckles behind a bony hand.

“We wouldn’t be together now,” she says in-between giggles, “if it weren’t for this fool here.” She points at Soonyoung with what’s left of her cigarette before throwing it in his direction, the butt landing right next to Soonyoung’s shoe for him to stomp out.

“So you admit that dating me isn’t entirely bad!” Soonyoung cheers to Wonwoo’s utter confusion. He feels the weight of Soonyoung’s arm against his neck, the strands of hair tickling his cheek, and coughs once more if only to clear whatever is blocking his throat now. How the _fuck_ does someone just join a smoke circle, consisting of their boyfriend and his two exes, who are now happily together like they’re all a part of a tacky dating show?

“When was all this?” Wonwoo stutters out after a pause.

Soonyoung takes one last drag from his cigarette before stomping it out. “I dated Mingyu in high school because we were both the best looking in the cohort,” he says, followed by another laugh from Mingyu. “Yuna and I were just beards for each other in uni, because _someone_ couldn’t accept being _gay_ gay.”

“The step between bi and lesbian is larger than you think,” Yuna retorts before giving Wonwoo a proper onceover, shaking her head with a tight grin after. She pulls out a metal case and offers it to Wonwoo. “You’re too pretty for him. Want one?”

Wonwoo would accept if it weren’t for the fact that his throat still feels like a thousand ants are crawling through it. “I don’t smoke, but thanks,” he says, no longer sure of his voice or tone and too scared to look at Soonyoung when he feels the arm on his shoulder slink away.

“Are you staying until the final act?” Soonyoung asks, nudging Wonwoo’s elbow when he doesn’t reply.

“I might head home early,” Wonwoo answers. He’s trying not to bite through the inside of his cheek; the air between them has soured out of nowhere, and Wonwoo does what he’s done best for years: blame Changkyun.

“I’m staying, but I can walk you to the station,” Soonyoung offers. “Unless you’re cabbing?”

Yuna whispers to Mingyu, lips unreadable behind thin fingers. She catches Wonwoo’s gaze and snickers while making shooing motions with her hands. He smiles apologetically at her.

“That’d be nice.” Soonyoung’s hand opens, palm up, and Wonwoo takes it so quickly he feels ashamed. He waves goodbye to Mingyu and Yuna. “Sorry to break up your reunion like this.”

The faint smell of tobacco doesn’t leave Soonyoung their entire mile-long walk to the subway station. Wonwoo realizes that he’s missed the smell despite having to chew his bottom lip raw to keep from commenting on how it makes Soonyoung’s kiss taste acrid.

“Really thought you’d know better than to smoke,” Wonwoo says offhandedly.

The hand holding his own is turning clammy, the sound of Soonyoung’s calm breathing quieter as he turns his head away from Wonwoo’s gaze.

“Just letting you know early on,Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says softly, like he doesn’t want to, “that if you only want the ideal me that you have in your head—or, whatever—you’re out of luck.”

When Soonyoung looks back at Wonwoo, there’s a lack of expression on his usually open face. Wonwoo thinks it’s practiced; the warning doesn’t sound frustrated enough for it to be the first time. He holds Soonyoung’s hand tighter and uses the grip to pull Soonyoung closer, kissing him behind one of the waiting bay’s pillars, right at the edge of where the yellow caution paint has started to peel.

“I didn’t mean it that way, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo apologizes with a careful smile. “They’re just bad for you.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes playfully and shoves Wonwoo into the train when it arrives. His figure, waving goodbye, grows smaller before disappearing completely as the train speeds into a tunnel. Despite the easy forgiveness, Wonwoo feels like he’s going to be sick; he didn’t mean a single thing in his apology.

**Seen Enough, Heard Enough, Felt Enough Now**

Here’s the thing: Wonwoo is twenty-six and involuntarily single. Being a late bloomer sucks because instead of nursing a minor heartbreak over a three-month-long relationship, he has to die a little each time the old anger of feeling abandoned rears its ugly head, his throat twisted until he can’t get any of his words to come out right. It’s been three years since Changkyun broke up with him, and Wonwoo still imagines past conversations playing out the other way around. Still unsure of how exactly he should react when Soonyoung touches him.

The weird sendoff from last night still weighs heavily in Wonwoo’s mind as he sits with the Battle of the Bands’ judging panel, barely taking note of the deliberation involving the elimination of nearly half of the participating acts. At least two of the judges are smoking, and Wonwoo thinks of Soonyoung doing the same, this still image that he is now cursedly obsessed over. He’d never want Soonyoung to quit for _health_ out of every possible reason there is, what the fuck was he saying yesterday? Wonwoo wants to punch someone and then punch himself.

“Earth to Jeon,” a voice calls out, “earth to Jeon Wonwoo, head of administration at Club17, _Jeon_ _Wonwoo_!”

Wonwoo snaps out of his pity party; he’s been holding one too many of them, these days. Everyone else has left the meeting room except for him and another panelist. The recording station has always been too quiet for Wonwoo’s liking, and he struggles to remember the panelist’s name. “Yes, uh, Minghao, was it?”

“I was ready to take myself off the panel if you forgot,” Minghao jokes. “Anywho, the semifinals are gonna be between _Jerry_ , _Slacks_ , _The Duckies_ , _I. M._ , and a couple rookie bands. Don’t fuck up the list with the promoters, now.”

Changkyun passed the preliminaries. Of course he did. Wonwoo doesn’t understand why Minghao bothers to brief him with the final decision right now instead of leaving him to find out by himself via email later. Then again, they’re already here. “Thanks again for agreeing to judge for this event, by the way,” he says, if only for formalities’ sake.

“Oh, _psh_.” Minghao waves Wonwoo off with a laugh. “Please, it’s really fun, and we’ve got some really good rookies this year—”

Minghao looks past Wonwoo and his face brightens instantly. Wonwoo hears a familiar voice shout out Minghao’s name, followed by heavy footsteps barreling towards them from the door. Soonyoung appears and barely greets Wonwoo with a loose hug before crashing into Minghao’s wide-open arms, completely unguarded as he lifts a flustered Minghao up from his seat to swing him around.

“I never thought I’d see you here of all places!” Soonyoung says with the world’s worth of cheer. “Dude, I’ve missed you!”

“Soonyoungie, I’ve missed you too,” Minghao chokes out, “but _let me go_.”

Soonyoung practically throws Minghao down before retreating to Wonwoo’s side, still a little out of breath. “Look, Hao.” He points at himself, then at Wonwoo, then back to his own face, a bright grin spread across it. “Wonwoo’s my boyfriend. He’s cute, unlike you.”

 _Unlike you_. Unlike another ex who Wonwoo is getting measured against. Unlike yet another person Wonwoo has met in the past month or so who so happens to have dated Soonyoung and still remains his _friend_. Wonwoo thinks he’s going to go insane; he means it this time.

“Good luck dealing with this asshole, Wonwoo,” Minghao quips in good humor. Wonwoo agrees despite the sarcasm, because no matter how much he begs, his luck has only ever taken turns for the worse.

He doesn’t realize being outside the meeting room, disgustingly clammy from cold sweat and brutal air conditioning, and he certainly doesn’t remember having said goodbye to Minghao. He has apparently reached the point of conducting business and networking without the need of being mentally present. Point to Wonwoo.

“Oh, right, before I forget. Ta-dah!” Soonyoung reaches into his backpack and brandishes an _I. M._ record, in mint condition and immaculately signed by Changkyun himself. Wonwoo isn’t aware of what expression he’s making, but Soonyoung is still smiling, too full of his own excitement. “I know your birthday isn’t until two weeks later, but I’m shit at remembering, and wanted to make sure you get this before I forget.”

Wonwoo accepts the record with numb hands, not even relishing in the fact that his sweaty hands will warp the record’s paper sleeve and ruin it forever. He can’t look at Soonyoung.

“Do you like it? Sorry—I just assumed you like them, because you stared at their stage so intently in the prelims...” Soonyoung trails off when he doesn’t receive a response. “Wonwoo?”

“Yeah.” It sounds as insincere as it is pathetic, but it’s a response, at least. Backhanded, maybe, in the way that Wonwoo wants Soonyoung to get mad first to justify his own imminent outburst.

“You okay there?” Soonyoung asks instead. He’s still very nice—Wonwoo doesn’t have another word for him. 

“Just tired,” Wonwoo mumbles, “I gotta go, so call you later?”

Soonyoung stops Wonwoo from leaving with a hand on his shoulder, frowning as he inspects Wonwoo’s expression carefully. “Not that anything’s wrong, but, say something if there is,” he says, and the only thing making Wonwoo feel better about the situation is how Soonyoung’s tone is less kind than it is a warning.

But Soonyoung is as soft as Wonwoo is indecisive, and so he smiles, even if it’s a little stiff, before moving his hand to Wonwoo’s cheek. He leans in for a kiss and Wonwoo blurts out instead, “I actually hate _I. M._ ”

“Well, shit—”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Soonyoung tries to sound placating but even he has his limits. Wonwoo can see his frustration as he moves to take back the record. “It was my fault for assuming, don’t worry about it. I can still return the record.”

“Sorry,” Wonwoo repeats. “But y’know what, he’s a terrible person, anyway. Shitty guy, shittier ex.”

“Ex?”

The way that single word completely changes Soonyoung’s expression to one Wonwoo has never seen before—it’s almost exciting. “Yeah, my ex,” Wonwoo says with too much gusto, surrendering because he’s angry and bitter over everything yet nothing at all, and because he knows there’s probably no salvaging whatever he could have with Soonyoung. If they’ve finally come to this ending, he might as well make a show out of it. “From a few years back. We were together for a while and well. I guess I hate his guts now.”

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief. “I know I said it’s fine, but you do realize I have feelings, right? You just rejected my gift.”

“Oh, you’re upset over my _one_ ex but I’m somehow supposed to get used to shaking hands with one of yours every time we so much as go out?” Wonwoo is grinning. Big. His cheeks hurt and the back of his head might as well be in flames—his hands are, however, dry.

“So I’m friends with all my exes! Big deal! We’re all fucking adults here, Wonwoo—”

“ _Adult_.” Wonwoo wonders if he’ll one day be punished for liking how small Soonyoung looks for once; standing there confused and red in the face, the rejected record held tightly against his torso. “Yes, Soonyoung, you’re clearly the adult here, you have to take this sad sack of shit out and about and you have to hold his hand all the time, through everything, don’t you? Because you’re the _adult_. Just assume I’ll like the _I. M._ record and all your friends—oh, wait, not your friends—your _exes._ Just assume I—your insecure _mess_ of a new boyfriend—will like the people you’ve fucked in the past.”

A beat passes where none of them speak. Wonwoo waits for regret, but it doesn’t take long. Soonyoung draws in a deep breath and doesn’t look away from Wonwoo when he spits, “Go fuck yourself.”

***

During times like this, Wonwoo throws himself into work.

The great (i.e., worst) thing about working in nightlife events is that Wonwoo can get drunk anytime he wants, realistically, and no one would approach him about it. The show goes on and they’re still barely above their breakeven quota for the number of social media RSVPs, but Wonwoo is at least five drinks in and sufficiently buzzed. In the meantime, Club17 still has to remain open, business as usual, and Jeonghan tends to the bar without really doing that, offering Wonwoo another can of iced tea while he nurses a tall glass of what could pass as a Long Island (it’s way too pale, for one).

“Trouble in paradise?” Jeonghan asks. And he probably means no harm by it, but Wonwoo bristles anyway.

“Sorry, but not today, Jeonghan.”

“Oh,” Jeonghan remarks flatly. He pulls the can away before Wonwoo can crack it open, and replaces it with his Long Island. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, promise.”

“It’s fine, all my fault anyways.” Wonwoo takes a sip and winces at the amount of tequila going down his throat. He’s convinced that Jeonghan’s bartending license is a form of fraud.

“What happened?”

Wonwoo looks away from his laptop for a second, then sighs before resigning to the fact that answering Jeonghan will always trump his other priorities. “I yelled at him,” Wonwoo starts, lifting his head to Jeonghan’s pitiful yet still oddly comforting stare. “I dunno, it’s just that every time we go out, we meet one of his exes, y’know? And he’s one of those people who are miraculously friends with their exes—”

“Which you’re clearly not one of,” Jeonghan interjects.

“Exactly, and I don’t make friends with someone else’s ex either. So imagine how it feels having to get all chummy with Soonyoung’s exes, a new ex every day or some shit like that.” Wonwoo gulps down more of his Long Island, ignoring the straw in favor of drinking straight from the rim. “It’s felt off to me for a while, but he showed up the other day with an _I. M._ record for me and surprise, it’s another ex, and I guess I just... lost it.”

A man sits down two barstools away from Wonwoo, beckoning Jeonghan’s attention. He raises a finger up at Wonwoo and mouths an apology. Wonwoo doesn’t see the point when Jeonghan is back to standing in front of him before he could even finish a sip of his drink.

“The _I. M._ record is on Soonyoung, we both know that,” Jeonghan says, his words clipped as he caps a tall glass with the shaker lid and proceeds to agitate the drink like it’s a laborious task he’s not paid for. He hands the order over before continuing his reply, “Everything else is very much on you, I’m sorry to say, but that’s the truth.”

“Is this what you meant by knowing what’s gonna happen?” Wonwoo asks. “You knew that I’m still stewing over Changkyun, and that’s why Soonyoung wasn’t gonna work out? Because I didn’t even do anything before the yelling.”

“Okay, don’t say it like you yelling at him isn’t _bad_ ,” Jeonghan chides. He notices how loud that must’ve sounded, briefly glancing at the other customer before clearing his throat. “Here’s the thing—you don’t befriend exes, that’s your problem. Not Soonyoung’s problem.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s made it his problem too because they’re all _his_ exes—”

“And that’s why I said _don’t go out with him_ , because you’re supposed to get that sorted out _before_ you decide to date someone!”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes before getting up. “I need a smoke break. Watch over my laptop.”

He swivels out of his seat early enough to not catch Jeonghan’s mocking sputters of _oh, a smoke break, since when have you willingly smoked?_ It’s raining outside, and he huddles close to the building’s walls with his arms crossed tightly, feet tapping against the concrete step. There’s nothing to see beyond the occasional passerby, and Wonwoo is beginning to feel stupid for how much he’s _feeling_ in the first place. 

Someone exits the club to stand right next to Wonwoo, alarming him with a quiet offering of a cigarette and a dazzling smile. He looks Wonwoo up and down, blankly, thoroughly unreadable, and says, “You’re gonna end up leaving a print with how much you’re stepping on the ground, there.”

Wonwoo used to smoke anyway. He accepts the cigarette out of spite, taking drags too frequently and burning through the first stick in less than five minutes. _Another_ , _please_ , he asks, and receives. 

“I assume you’re the reason Soonyoung has been camping out at my place,” the man tells him after a while. If this were a few days ago, Wonwoo would think he’s looking for a fight. “Oh, I’m Wen Junhui, by the way,” he says, extending a hand out for Wonwoo to shake, “though you might know me as _Jerry & Co._’s frontman.”

“I really like your _Evening Boat Ride_ EP,” Wonwoo remarks, shaking Junhui’s hand weakly.

“This might make me sound like a terrible friend, but would you like to know the rest of the list?”

Junhui talks like it’s a skill he’s practiced, face open and warm as if he’s trained it to remain like that throughout the entire conversation. It’s baffling. The conversation itself is bizarre. Wonwoo gulps audibly while Junhui lights his cigarette with ease.

“The rest of what list?” Wonwoo asks.

“His exes!” Junhui announces with so much excitement that Wonwoo almost believes Soonyoung isn’t real, merely a character they’re discussing. “He mentioned that’s been bothering you. So.”

“There’s more?” Wonwoo says dumbly. His throat is dry. He can’t even spare the time to be happy that Soonyoung thought of him enough to mention anything about him.

“You missed the best of them—there’s Kibum, like the actor, who by the way isn’t quite over Soonyoung yet, but they’re friends—and there’s Minki, they had a weird thing going on but it didn’t last.” Junhui finally pauses for breath before finishing quietly, “Then there’s me. I guess people would call me The Ex.”

There’s a certain privilege in being someone’s single, most evil ex. Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s anywhere close to that title, even in Changkyun’s case, because Wonwoo has never ruined anyone, has he? It’s more of everyone being his own personal enemy in his head before he even musters up enough courage to kiss them. He scoffs and snuffs the cigarette with the heel of his sneakers.

“Here to beat me up or something?” Wonwoo asks.

“Oh god, no,” Junhui laughs, and he does so discretely, a hand waving at nothing between them and quiet chuckles all around. Wonwoo doesn’t know him, but he’s relaxed and smiles softly, like someone who deserves to be next to Soonyoung. He doesn’t know why they’d ever break up.

“But you said he’s been staying over,” Wonwoo says, “so what’s up with that? Got back together?”

“Nah, we’re never doing that again, I think.”

Junhui solemnly finishes his cigarette, staring at his feet the entire while. They’re covered in standard black Chuck Taylors, as safe as he is, as sound as he makes himself out to be. Wonwoo holds himself tighter. When Junhui finally stares Wonwoo in the eye, he’s pleading.

“Here’s the thing about Soonyoung,” Junhui says.

***

Soonyoung would never call his life a bad one. In fact, it’s swell. Sure, he’s needy and desperate and always searching for someone— _anyone_ —to spend the night with, but everything else falls into place.

Upon meeting Seokmin, barely fourteen and awkward in all the wrong ways possible, Soonyoung felt genuinely happy for the first time in his life. This happiness lasted for a total of sixteen days, after which he found the same happiness and kept it for at least a year with Mingyu.

(He couldn’t say the same for Yuna, bless her heart, but they were looking elsewhere the entire time. Like the case of two negatives cancelling each other out. No one hurt, no harm done.)

The first thing Soonyoung learned as an adult was that of shame; circling about the same few groups of people and barely remembering anything beyond the particulars of _event name_ , _dates_ , _refreshments offered_ , _people_ blurred into a series of liquor-stained polaroid shots. It was a lot, now that he recalls, but being a club promoter was an honest job, one that sustained his lifestyle and vice versa while the world reminded him of how stupid he was (well, is) for diving heart-first into everything.

So Soonyoung didn’t complain when Kibum stopped seeing him as much to audition for more difficult roles, nor did he complain when Minki told him he didn’t want anything _too_ _serious_. There would always be someone else for him, as long as he stayed in this line of work. Being an event promoter is hardly any different.

And then came Junhui. He seemed perfect for a few years.

The question about a _perfect significant other_ is that it doesn’t exist—never has, never will. Soonyoung had latched onto Junhui for too long, too much, in the sense that they were too similar, like screaming in a carnival funhouse with every possible surface covered in mirrors. He realized that it’s never been about soulmates or _the one_ than it has been about comfort. He takes what he can get from Junhui. Everything was agreed upon and he’d never have to feel bad about anything, really.

Enter Wonwoo, who is objectively bad. (However one wishes to define bad.)

But Soonyoung’s heart races like he’s about to die whenever he’s around Wonwoo and he just might, sooner than later. He hasn’t told Wonwoo a fraction of the reasons for why he likes him, and the only thing Soonyoung gets in return is some perfect picture of him that _isn’t_ _him_ embedded in the forefront of Wonwoo’s mind.

 _For how good you are at being honest_ , Junhui once said, _you hate it too much._


End file.
